


From Despair to Where

by SilentSinger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Edward, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Tension, nice!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSinger/pseuds/SilentSinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate scenario for S02E15: Mad Grey Dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Despair to Where

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://okimi79.tumblr.com/post/145176595454/i-really-like-the-idea-of-evil-edward-totally) confession.

It was the perfect puzzle. Quite literally. The art gallery. The bomb. The anonymous tip. The signed witness statement. The murder weapon – complete with the intended stooge’s fingerprints, and the soon-to-be deceased co-worker.

Jim Gordon was going to pay. Oh, Jim Gordon was going to rue the day he ever fucked with Edward Nygma. Not that he would ever assume Ed was behind all of this, of course. Not Jimbo. Poor, feeble-minded Jimbo.

Edward almost felt sorry for the man – his asinine work methods and sheer bullheadedness would never,  _ could _ never unravel a plan as well concocted as this.

Struck with reverence at his own unmitigated brilliance, Edward caresses the aforementioned murder weapon – a simple crowbar – with the tips of his gloved fingers. It feels somewhat sensual, the sensation of cold steel under thin latex. He’s quite frankly, all but ready to enjoy the sensation of that exquisite, wafer-thin rubber caressing his own cock – as a celebration of sorts – when he’s brought sharply back to reality by a knock at the door.

****

Although genuinely pleased to see his old friend – freshly released from his recent incarceration at Arkham Asylum – Ed cannot help but feel a little perplexed. Literally tarred and feathered, a once proud and notorious killer stands before him, offering him advice on... anger management?

“I’m here to tell you, Ed, as a friend, violence and anger are not the answer. I am a changed man. Better. And you can change, too.”

This isn’t right. Here stands a man who had connived, cheated and murdered his way to the top of Gotham’s sordid underbelly, a man whose intelligence rivalled Edward’s own, seemingly reduced to nothing more than a do-gooder – another hopeless sap unworthy of even the most cursory of glances.

_ Break him, Eddie. Fix him. _

Edward shakes away the intrusive thought, and grits out a grimaced “Cool”, followed by a hollow chuckle.

“Tempting offer. The thing is...” Ed continues, with another empty chortle. “The me I am right now is kind of hitting my stride.”

“Oh.” Oswald looks utterly forlorn.

_ Did he really think it would be that easy? _

“And I’m really grateful for all you’ve taught me,” says Edward, bitterly recalling the moments they’d shared exacting delicious revenge on Theo Galavan’s lackey – Mr. Leonard. Oswald had been happy then. He’d been whole. His eyes had danced with zeal, a wry smile had adorned his lips at every cut they’d inflicted – together. Every time their quarry had screamed in agony, Oswald had laughed. A genuine, passionate and musical discord, and in those brief moments – it had seemed to Edward that Oswald was truly free of his own inner turmoil.

“And that bad stuff you told me about Jim Gordon is really paying off.”

“Is it?” Oswald grins, and his naïve expression of guileless glee stirs something deep in the pit of Ed’s stomach.

“It is,” Edward replies, composing himself as best he can. “It’s helped me to create the perfect puzzle to get rid of my Jim Gordon dilemma. Normally, I would love to share...”

_ Perhaps you could share something else with him. _

“But to be honest, the new you is kind of freaking me out.”

Freaked out – perhaps. But if Ed was truly honest with himself, Oswald’s current demeanour was doing a little more than just unnerving him. A deep-seated need, a want, a  _ desire _ to spoil, and perhaps – even alleviate Oswald’s disposition.

_ You can do whatever you put your mind to, Eddie. Think of Jim. Think of what you’re going to do to him. Think of the look on his cretinous face when he’s taken away for good. _

And so, fuelled by admiration of his own genius, instead of seeing his friend to the door, Edward instead finds himself saying, “On second thoughts, you look ridiculous. Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

It’s folly, really. Ed knows it. As he watches his closest friend disrobe, without question and sporting a harmless grin, his insides knot. Their short-lived relationship so far had been awash with glances of longing, and lewd, wine-fuelled suggestions whispered into half-empty glasses. They’d brush it off, of course. After all, who has time to indulge in such desires? Undoubtedly they’d always both wanted it, both needed it. And now?

And now...

It was too late now.  _ He _ was taking over. Edward is fully aware of it. Normally he’d shake off that feeling, in civilised conversation, at least. Bathroom mirror pep talks were all well and good, but to allow such assertive, and oftentimes – downright  _ indecent _ thoughts to take centre-stage was just asking for conflict.

_ Conflict? Hah! Look at him. Only you can help him, Eddie. _

And help him he would. One way or another.

“My friend, I appreciate your hospitality, as always,” Oswald beams, as the last of his feathered attire hits the floor with a gentle thud.

As he stands before Edward, in just his underwear – all wide eyes and pale skin, Ed swallows the lump in his throat.

This, was of course the point where a decent friend, a good and wholesome friend, would bend down, scoop up the offending garments and offer to throw them away.  _ “Perhaps some pyjamas, Mr. Cobblepot? Or perhaps something a little more befitting of your tastes? Something you could walk the streets wearing? Off you go, my friend. It was wonderful to see you again.” _

Grinning predatorily, Edward draws himself closer. He wasn’t a decent friend, he wasn’t even a decent man. He’d come to terms with that, at least. Opportunities must be taken, when they arise. And truth be told, this particular opportunity was long overdue.

He runs his fingers lightly across the polished, undulating surface of the wooden butcher’s block that Oswald is standing by, as he closes the distance between them. It’s a rewarding sensation. The glossy maple is smooth and sleek. Oswald’s skin looks smooth and sleek, too.

“Perhaps I could bother you for a shower?” says Oswald, visibly shivering as Ed closes in on him.

They’re face to face now, and Edward rests his hands on the table either side of Oswald, effectively trapping him. “Perhaps,” he replies.

“I- I don’t wish to be any trouble,” Oswald stammers, as Ed’s thigh deliberately finds its way between his legs. “I...  _ Oh.” _

“I assure you, my friend. It’s no trouble,” Ed grins. He presses further into his prey, the veritable ‘rabbit in the headlights’, and swells with something akin to pride at the feeling of Oswald’s growing erection pushing against his thigh. Of course, this was always going to be easy. Everything was easy, for Edward Nygma.

Oswald emits a tiny, muted whine as Ed parts his legs with his own, and begins to grind their crotches together. Edward breathes deeply of Oswald’s scent: the pungent grime of his previous attire is now overpowered entirely by an aroma that is concentrated, warm and musky. There’s no doubt that Oswald wants this. No doubt at all.

“Tell me to stop,” Ed whispers, as he leans in to nibble at Oswald’s earlobe.

Oswald exhales in one laborious, shuddering emission. “Ed, I...”

“Tell me to stop,” Ed repeats, as his lips explore further, delicately grazing his teeth against the soft flesh of Oswald’s neck. “Or turn around.”

Oswald complies readily, without so much as a word. He shuffles awkwardly between Ed and the butcher’s block, and yelps with surprise when Ed forcibly presses his body down, flattening him against the surface.

“You always did enjoy a little danger, Ozzie,” Edward murmurs, hastily stepping out of his pants and removing his underwear to free his own painfully hard cock. “I can provide that.”

Oswald whimpers as his own briefs are stripped away, and Ed’s hands explore the smooth skin of his buttocks. He’s noticeably trembling, and this does little to make Edward cease his exploration. If anything, it only fuels his desire. He massages the crack of Oswald’s ass, fingers teasing and exploring the puckered opening.

“Are you afraid of me, Oswald?” he purrs, as he dips in the tip of one long finger. He begins to explore inside, massaging slow circles, pressing and pushing and stretching before adding a second digit.

A deep, hoarse groan escapes Oswald as Ed works him, and the vocalisation causes Edward to ache with an all-consuming need. He tentatively adds a third digit, and begins to languidly stroke his own cock, savouring the feeling of Oswald clenching around his fingers.

“You should be,” he growls, crooking all three digits and withdrawing them at once. Oswald howls at this, and the sheer desperation of the sound is enough to make Edward line up and push inside without any further hesitation.

Oswald writhes beneath him as he presses further, and the soft pop of yielding muscle is almost too much to bear. Ed starts slowly, one hand clutching, nails digging into the supple flesh of Oswald’s buttocks, the other clinging tightly to his shoulder. Oswald grasps the tabletop with unwavering tenacity as Ed works up a rhythm, and the harmony of perspiring, slapping flesh is soon drowned out entirely by the moans emanating from Oswald’s lips.

He’s close now, they both are. As the heat overwhelms his body, Edward pounds into Oswald, deep and desperate and delirious. He thinks of Jim, about to spend the rest of his days rotting away in Blackgate Penitentiary. He thinks of Bullock, and all the hurtful slurs he’s bestowed upon him. He thinks of Tom  _ fucking _ Dougherty, and the look on his imbecilic face when he realised Ed wasn’t a man to be trifled with, after all. But most of all – he thinks of the small, pale shuddering frame beneath him, and the delicious, pulsing pressure of tight muscle clenching around his length. This was what he wanted above all else. This was what he’d always wanted.

He comes then, with a profane roar, pumping further and further until it seeps out around him – warm and sticky and wet. But now he needs to see, to commit this moment to memory. He pulls out and spins Oswald around; he’s panting, red-faced and utterly wrecked. He’s absolutely beautiful.

“Look at me,” Ed breathes, as he strokes Oswald’s neglected cock with a determined and deliberate pace. “I want to see you when you come.”

Pale eyes meet brown as Oswald cries out, his cock throbbing and his seed spilling out over Edward’s hand. He gasps, he gulps, he sputters for air. He collapses backwards onto the table, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut. For a second, the slightest flicker of a snarl ghosts his lips, before fading into an expression of perfect benevolence.

Edward regards him and smiles; it’s bittersweet, he knows. But at least, for a brief moment, everything was back to normal.

**Author's Note:**

> [okimi79.tumblr.com](http://okimi79.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Click here for an artist's impression, and just... ugh. :'(](http://riddlelvr.tumblr.com/post/145421421243/tell-me-to-stop-ed-repeats-as-his-lips-explore)


End file.
